


in which there is aftercare

by iimpavid



Series: unfinished duet [13]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aftercare, Banter, Communication, Domme Juno Steel is the Forbidden Truth, Established Relationship, Hugging, M/M, Mild Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid
Summary: Literally what it says on the tin.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Juno Steel/Hieron/Peter Nureyev
Series: unfinished duet [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564903
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	in which there is aftercare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voidteatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidteatime/gifts).



> voidteatime told me to stick this on AO3 so now y'all have to look at it. 
> 
> This is another of those "the polycule has kinky shenanigans later in life" scenarios. It takes place after the main plot of the series and if you'd like to get a bit of context I recommend starting with Gin & Chthonic and yelling at me until I fill in the 20-year gap between it and the rest.
> 
> Important disclaimer: this is fanfiction, not a practical guide to kink, don't Do Things This Way.

No good news ever came from the Outer Rim but Peter liked to read it anyway. It helped him decide just where to send the spoils of his piracy after he‘d paid his necessary expenses. He laid on his stomach scrolling idly through news feeds with the hand that wasn’t in a brace. He was trying very hard not to move anything from the waist down.

The bruises were well-placed.  _ Safely _ placed (as if they’d ever be anything less). Motivated by masochistic curiosity he’d checked — then relished discovering that they were indeed as bad as they felt with mingling shame and delight.

The meatiest parts of his backside and thighs were isolated masses of deep violet carrying the impressions of Juno’s folded belt. Juno had a hell of an arm. Peter had felt each one of the strikes he’d earned in his teeth. The strip of skin just above the carefully localized bruising, at the tops of his thighs, had  _ felt _ worse. Bad enough at the time make him lose his count entirely and with it the ability to do anything but apologize-- a few vicious snaps, almost light-handed, across thin skin with the tongue of Juno’s belt felt like being flayed open-- but they’d left no marks at all. Pale, tender skin stretched unbroken between the miserably raw expanses of burst blood vessels bleeding under the skin. 

Juno’s aim was impeccable but then Peter never expected anything less in any circumstances. 

The ocean house was always full of sound but never in obvious ways; the hounds hummed and the waves crashed on the shore below the cliffs and the birds sometimes gathered with the sky whales above the house making for a soft cacophony that blended into an illusory silence. He listened to Juno rummaging in the kitchen, the suction noise of the fridge opening followed by the freezer, a cupboard with a squeaky hinge.

It wasn’t something either of them was particularly happy about to begin with but, for Peter, the dread didn’t sink in until Juno asked him, “You wanna remind me why I have to do this, Peter?” suffused with a patient calm that drove home the simple facts: Peter broke the rules and this was punishment, straightforward and detached. 

The disappointment and frustration had come and gone a week before when Peter had dislocated his thumb to slip Juno’s ropes; he hadn’t thought about the potential consequences at all beyond needing to see if he could do it. A little nauseating  _ pop _ in his weaker hand and a few slipped loops had given him a free arm and from there the rest had come easily. For a few glorious seconds he’d stood free of the kitchen chair. He was proud of himself as he popped his thumb back into place. But he felt it when Juno noticed-- and then Hieron. _ I hope that was worth it. _ It was… right up to the point where it wasn’t.

Hearing Juno walk into the living room, straight to the sofa (which Peter had taken over the moment he’d hobbled out of bed), he didn’t look up from zoning out at the news, only said, “You  _ can _ leave me alone for more than four consecutive hours; I won’t die.” 

“Uh-huh, take off your pants.” 

With a put-upon sigh Peter propped his tablet against the arm of the couch so he could push himself up to his knees and do as he was told-- gingerly. But not gingerly enough. The waistband of his pajamas slipped off one of his thumbs and snapped at the edge of one of the expansive raw aches that’d made him reluctant to do much more than lie still all morning. He bit down on a yelp, stopping to cringe and breathe through his nose.

“That’s what you get for wearing pants after someone beats you.”

“These are my favorite pajamas,” he protested.

That fact did nothing for the lingering burning that felt like it went straight through his leg but Juno’s hand pushing him to lay down again did the trick. It was easier instead to focus on how acutely vulnerable a position it was to be flat on his stomach waiting for Juno to rub a salve into his battered skin. The salve was a local specialty for climbers’ scrapes and aches, made with wildflowers only found on the big island, and the seal on the jar cracked a little suggesting it was new which meant Juno or Hieron went into town to get it. Peter folded his arms under his head, mindful to keep his right hand with its miserable brace on the bottom, and turned his face toward the back of the sofa on the off chance that Juno wouldn’t notice how red his cheeks had gotten. 

Juno’s hands were gentle but that didn’t mean much considering the state of his backside. He was shocked he had skin left to take care of. 

“I could do this myself, you know.”

“Yeah,  _ after _ you avoided moving all day long and got all stiff and you’d be mad at yourself for the rest of the night— I don’t wanna deal with it. I’m saving all of us the pain in the ass.” Juno almost managed to not laugh at his own terrible joke.

“I don’t appreciate your humor,” Peter replied as frostily as he could manage given the circumstances.

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that, prettyboy.” 

He sputtered. “I  _ will _ .”

With a chuckle Juno tugged at the waistband of Peter’s pajamas where they were bunched at his knees. “There, all done.” 

While Peter knelt up to redress himself, awkward with one hand in a brace but managing more or less fine, Juno asked, “You do any thinking about what that was all about?” 

Peter sighed heavily and grabbed a throw pillow from the floor to lay on. 

Juno settled the first of several ice packs across Peter’s legs. Their household had enough aches and pains among the three of them for there to be a good collection in the bottom shelf of the freezer. The ones Peter liked best were thin clay wrapped in flannel, soft and light but more than capable of serving their purpose, and those were the ones Juno had brought.

“You said you were done,” Peter complained.

“I lied.” 

“This isn’t fair.” 

“Whining doesn’t work on me.” 

“I’m not  _ whining _ I’m pointing out the fact that you’ve cornered me-- I’m literally incapable of going anywhere.”

“Still sounds like whining to me; I’m pretty sure you could run away if you absolutely had to. But you won’t. You owe me an explanation.” 

That had been the deal. After assurances that Peter hadn’t slipped his bonds out of panic or an unwillingness to use his safeword-- his apology had been sincere, he’d accepted his punishment well, but now came the last of it. The part where he proved he understood why he’d done something to damage the trust among the three of them.

“I meant it, I wanted to see if I could so I did.” 

“And?” Juno settled on the floor near Peter’s head and waited. Patience wasn’t his forte but some things were worth it. Sometimes. 

Peter stretched. Refolded his arms under the throw pillow. The ice packs and salve worked their magic. He was cold but his skin felt less thin, stung less with every minute movement. Sat this close he could see Juno just fine without his glasses. “Your back won’t thank you for sitting on the floor.” 

“I’d sit on the couch but there’s a beanpole in the way.” 

“I can move--” 

“Get off that couch and I’ll put you back.” Juno tempered the threat with a hand on the back of Peter’s neck. Warm and heavy, rubbing his thumb along an aching tendon with unerring accuracy. He smelled overwhelmingly of wildflowers, sharp and clean. 

Peter’s eyes drifted closed. All at once he was sure that, between the heat of Juno’s palm and the soft embrace of the sofa he might be able to fall asleep. On the heels of that intense calm came understanding. “I think I just wanted you to touch me,” he said softly.

Juno made an inquiring noise and the need to clarify gave Peter room to set aside (but not file away; the difference was subtle and important) the ravening desire to be held that had just opened up in his chest. Not for the first time he wondered if proximity to Hieron’s mindeating had affected whatever trace elements the Lassonionic Capsule had left behind: he could feel Juno’s gaze on him. 

“Just... like this,” he said and meant it, keeping his eyes safely closed. 

“There are ways to get what you want that don’t involve dislocating your thumb, Peter. Like  _ asking _ . You’ve gotten really good at asking for things.” 

“I didn’t know what I wanted in the moment,” he pointed out, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. “And even if I did-- I didn’t want to…” He took a deep breath and sighed and chose his words cautiously. “I suppose I didn't want to... risk being rejected but I’ve also … missed you. Lately.” 

“So the compromise was acting out,” Juno concluded then frowned. “Oh.” 

“What do you mean,  _ oh _ ?” 

“We never rescheduled poker night after the Triton job.” 

It was Peter’s turn to frown, flipping back through the last couple months’ worth of interactions, then slowly resolving into gape-mouthed surprise. “We  _ didn’t _ .” 

“Shit, Peter, I’m so sorry--” 

“Oh, god, I’m an idiot.” 

“No--”

“-- _ Yes _ \--” 

“Okay, fine! You _are_ an idiot, but not about this. It’s not your fault your abandonment issues have a hair trigger.” 

“Actually--” 

“Stop it and let me cut you some slack, okay? Here, move. Get up.” 

“I just got comfortable--” 

“ _ Get up _ .” Juno pulled at him until Peter stood-- wincing and irritated and embarrassed, ice packs sliding to the floor with a pathetic crinkling sound-- then hugged him hard enough his ribs creaked. 

“Juno, I--” 

“Shut up and let me hug you.”

Miraculously, he kept his mouth shut and let Juno hug him.

“You’re important, too. You’re not intruding on me and Hieron. I’m sorry I stopped giving you evidence of that.”

“... Thank you, Juno. I’ll work on... not injuring myself and breaking the rules for attention.”

“If you don’t it’ll hurt you worse than it’ll hurt me.” 

“You didn’t even break a sweat last night,” Peter agreed, pulling back to admire the strength of Juno’s shoulders and squeeze his biceps, “Whatever you’ve been doing is working magnificently, detective.”

“It’s all the crime. Running from the law’s good cardio.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no actual life okay. Writing about Hieron, Juno, and Peter is my life now.
> 
> Your comments sustain me.


End file.
